Well apparently the dissertation has generated a little more interest than I had anticipated, and I can't say I'm unhappy about it. I wasn't actually planning on publishing the link until the thing had been marked, but one |or |two |articles published in the past few days have meant that I can't really disguise it. I was initially concerned that with all the citing going on, I might be in the interesting situation where it looks like I've been plagiarising myself when they Google search phrases in the electronic copy. That said, everyone is doing such a marvellous job of referencing that doesn't appear to be a problem at all.

So big thanks to everyone who helped and I'm still interested in hearing from you if you have any thoughts. You can email dissertation [at] andyhiggs.co.uk (you know what I mean).

On a separate and more alcoholic note, last night was an attempt to distance myself from the rather shabby turn of events earlier in the day. It was successful. There was a certain amount of Zeppelin involved, a fair portion of poker and a considerable amount of fun.

It is unfortunate I can't recall more than a few mere snippets of the night; although I do remember winding up a few people and talking absolute biscuits to quite a lot of random girls. Devito managed to get clocked in the temple for telling a girl that she should have smaller feet and I can't tell you what Swanny or Jono got up to as they don't seem to remember either.

This morning as I confronted my inbox (and my hangover) I discovered a new email from Brown. These sorts of things are usually amusing, and it didn't disappoint me. Not content with being arrested for trespassing on Crown property a few months ago while 'trying to find a shortcut home', he recently found himself talking to the Old Bill when a practical joke went wrong at work.

The general jist of the tale was that him and a mate (who work at a very high profile advertising agency in The Smoke) decided that the internal mail system wasn't being abused enough, and soon enough a number of offensive novelty items were being sent through the envelope system. It began with a photocopy of Rich's middle finger, was seconded with a tangerine with a face and genitals drawn on it, replied to with a pair of furry handcuffs and escalated to include a ginger beard wig and a Playmobil model of a policeman with an offensive post-it note glued to it.

It turns out that Brown's friend's next reply was a little over the top, and when the Human Resources manager was alerted to the envelope filled with white powder and a note inside stating "Anthrax Sample: Do not Open", the Metropolitan Police were called and Brown and his partner in crime were both questioned by the bomb squad. After a eighty quid fine and a cautioning for "Abuse of internal postal systems for office banter and pseudo-anthrax threats" everything appears to be back to normal for the Browndog.

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